University of Virginia Library

And she will come—her sweet lute strung behind,
And her dark tresses streaming to the wind;
Death on her cheek; and madness in her air
Will rave in all the wildness of despair.—
Oh! how can our existence be so dear,
Embittered by the frequent burning tear?
Why were we formed to live, to die in pain,
To wish for what, to hope, alas! were vain—
While senseless, soulless, grovelling forms of clay
Laugh at the pangs they cannot chase away?
Oh! what is memory, and what is hope?
Memory! a dream—within whose boundless scope
All we have loved comes rushing o'er the mind:
We wake to weep o'er joys we've left behind.
Hope! 'tis the expectation unfulfilled,
When all our fairest views are blighted—killed;
'Tis the delusion sent, by heavenly care,
To save mankind from horror and despair—
Delusion oft repeated, oft destroyed,
That still deceitful fills the aching void
Of hearts that cannot look beyond a scene
Which soon may be as it had never been.
Then she will cease, and gaze full wistfully
On pity's tear, that trembles in mine eye,
As if her glimmering light half served to show
Elvira's wrongs had caused that tear to flow;
And she will lay her hand upon mine arm,
And raise those eyes of soul-subduing charm,
Whose speaking rays of trembling blue unfold
All that her wand'ring speech hath left untold;
And, throwing back the locks her brow that veil,
Will wildly whisper forth her mournful tale:
“Bright beneath dazzling painted lamps there shone
The gilded splendour of the Spanish throne,
While merrily the inspiring music sounded,
And swift and gracefully the light foot bounded;
And lords and ladies, oh! as bright and fair
As stars in a dark heaven, were gathered there.
But I saw one, in whose blue eye the light
Than painted dazzling lamps was far more bright;
The silver music of whose voice, to me
Was sweeter than the sounds of minstrelsy;
To whom more beauty of its kind was given
Than any of those glancing stars of heaven:
And as those beauteous orbs of light shine on,
Reckless of whom or what they smile upon,
So beautiful, so cold, my path he cross'd,
Unconscious at each step a heart was lost;
And one, which came as light and free as air,
Fell from the height of joy to dark despair—
I saw but him, though he saw all but me—
Deep lies his image in my memory.
And think not, loved one, though we part for ever,
That bands the heart entwine so soon can sever;
Oft, oh! still oft, shall steal across my soul
The thoughts I vainly labour to controul;
And as my parting look on Carlos fell,
To think, though not to breathe, a sad farewell—
The tear unbidden started to mine eyes,
Forlorn as Eve gazed back on Paradise.”
Now she hath ceased—her white arm raised on high,
The soul of love is beaming in her eye;
But memory soon hath quenched that meteor ray,
And she hath turned to wend her weary way;
And bending o'er her lute's bewildering strings,
To hide her tears, thus mournfully she sings:

Thus sings she, dewy flowerets weep to hear—
E'en the inconstant rose will drop a tear;
And, as her sickening colour fades, will sigh
To the sweet wanton zephyr wandering by—
“Hark to that poor lost maid, how sweet she sings!
To prove”—what would she prove? “That love has wings.”
Carlos is gone, and quickly zephyr flies—
The fond rose fades—and sad Elvira dies.